


like lovers do

by kweerwolf



Series: you belong to me - martin whitly/malcolm bright [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cabin Fic, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink (literally), Dark Malcolm Bright, F/M, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Martin Whitly loves his son, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 18:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kweerwolf/pseuds/kweerwolf
Summary: martin whitly escapes prison and goes to the first person he can think of.





	like lovers do

Malcolm woke up in the passenger seat of a stolen car, window cracked to let air in. The mid-January air hit his face and the smell of ice and death lingered in the car. He sat up and squinted, inspecting his surroundings. The car was parked at a cabin, beside a frozen brook and completely surrounded by trees.

He hasn’t seen this cabin in years. He’d only seen pictures of his family’s summers and winters spent in the cabin, he was too young to remember their time here on his own. His grandfather gave it to them back when Malcolm was born, hoping it would start a Whitly family tradition. Grandpa Whitly passed away not too long after he gave the cabin to his son, and the tradition only lasted six years. Before their winter vacation in 1993, Martin had been arrested, and the family left the cabin for good.

He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Grandpa Whitly would be glad to see the cabin in use once again, though he likely wouldn’t be happy to learn his son was a convicted serial killer, and his grandson was accompanying him during his escape. 

He pulls his coat around himself, getting up from the car and wandering to the cabin, following the trail of footprints. Malcolm feels himself freezing, he pushes through the brittle, unforgiving wind and gets to the wooden steps. He pulls himself up to the porch and opens the door for himself, shivering. If he shakes enough, he’ll warm himself up.

The cabin is cold and dark, save for the little rays of golden light peaking through the doorway leading to the living room. He takes a moment to linger in the kitchen/dining room, the old floorboards creaking underneath his feet. Malcolm sniffles, walking to the sink and turning on the tap. It hums before spurting water into the metal basin, ice cold water. He turns the knobs on either side of the faucet until he feels the water heating up, running his hands underneath the almost-steaming stream. If anything, he’s surprised the water heater is working.

He turns off the sink and wipes his hands on the outside of his coat, finally deciding to step into the living room. Martin obviously knows it’s him, they had no neighbours out here for at least twenty miles. Though, it’s strange he hadn’t called out to him.

Malcolm finds Martin sitting by the fire, his eyes focused on the flames. He’s bundled up in his winter coat and his signature cardigan. His arms are folded over his stomach, and he exhales softly when he notices Malcolm watching him.

“You’re awake,” his voice is soft and warm, it always tricks Malcolm.

“Yeah.” He says, rubbing his hands together. “You’re sure no one is going to look for you here?”

Martin looks up at Malcolm, smiling gently. He nods once and gestures to his lap. “For now, at least. Now, come sit on Daddy’s lap.”

He watches his father, thinking for a moment if he really wants to comply. He had time to think about it on the drive, consider if he really wanted to be so depraved.

Martin proposed the idea of starting a relationship before they hit the road. He snuck into Malcolm’s apartment around one am and watched him sleep for an hour before he shook him awake and took him out to the car. For half of the ride he stared at him, thinking about why he’d want to take it to this kind of level. Malcolm, however, was starting to justify the idea to himself before he fell asleep.

Now, he’s finding himself drawn to his father, hesitantly sitting down in his lap and propping his legs over the arm of the chair. Malcolm shakes slightly, like a trembling little leaf. Martin sighs happily, placing one hand onto the small of Malcolm’s back. He rubs softly, barely even touching him. The mood of the room turns from awkward to suggestive within seconds. Malcolm can’t even decide if he dislikes this turn of events or not.

“I remember when you were little, I was afraid of holding you. I thought you were made of the finest china, that if I touched you, you’d shatter.” He keeps his eyes locked on Malcolm, who can’t escape his gaze. His hand trails up his back before it sneaks back down, lower than when he started. Martin smirks when he notices Malcolm shuddering at the sensation.

“I see you’re still scared, Dr. Whitly,” he says, feeling like he has the upper hand despite him not having the nerve to call him “Martin.” Or, like the nagging part of his brain is telling him, “Daddy.” It doesn’t help that his teeth are still faintly chattering. He enjoys how he snakes his hand down to his arse, groping him. Malcolm breathes out, somewhere between an exhale and a sigh. He loses his cool composure almost immediately. “ _ Mm,  _ maybe not.”

He wonders how long this will last, how long they’ll have together before the FBI inevitably finds them. It’s impossible that no one will find them, or they’ll just leave them alone. No matter how much Malcolm is starting to enjoy the idea of sneaking around the authorities, he’s certain that they’ve stayed still for too long already, and they’ll end up being caught before dawn.

“Don’t call me ‘Dr. Whitly.’ Call me ‘Dad.’” His voice is dark, it sends a volt of electricity up Malcolm’s spine. He leans into his son and presses their mouths together, he tastes bloody nectar on his lips.

Malcolm adjusts himself, moving to sit in his father’s lap, their hearts beating against each other and his legs resting on either side of Martin’s hips. He’s starting to get hard, his cock prodding at the inside of Malcolm’s thigh. He moans, forcing his dad’s mouth open and slipping his own tongue in. It’s bolder than he was only moments ago, but he desperately wants Martin inside of him as quickly as possible.

He felt like a teenager again, aroused over the smallest stimuli, something his logic would tell him isn’t something to get worked up over. However, this has been something that’s been boiling under his surface for ages. He thought it was normal to have dreams about having sex with Martin; he’d never verbalised the idea to his therapists and psyhiatrists, but he told himself that it was normal, and he couldn’t control what happened in his dreams.

His tongue rubs against his father’s, he moans softly into his mouth and pulls himself closer. He grinds against Martin’s cock, his own dick twitches. How had he not realised he’d wanted this for so long? Malcolm throws his coat off, the room is quickly heating up.

“How long have you wanted me, Malcolm?” Martin whispers into his mouth, his eyes half-lidded and focused on his unraveling son. He moves his hand from his back to his semi-hard cock, palming it. Malcolm buries his face into the crook between his shoulder and neck, his moaning slightly muffled. “I realised I wanted you when you started going to Harvard, started visiting me again. I wanted to rip that sweater off of you and leave love bites all down your neck.”

Malcolm quivers at the thought, inhaling sharply and pressing a kiss to Martin’s jawline. He trails lower, smirking with each peck of his lips to his father’s skin. “I’ve dreamt about you fucking me since I was fourteen.” He interrupts himself with another kiss on the dip in the middle of his collarbone. “I’ve dreamt about riding your cock and gagging when you cum down my throat. I dream about you pressing me against your cell bars and pounding into me until I can’t stand.”

Martin kisses Malcolm roughly, biting down on his bottom lip, toying it between his teeth. He gasps, his fingers searching underneath his dad’s clothes. His fingers run over his chest hair, he pushes the hem of his shirt down his chest and runs his tongue over the slight depression in his sternum. Malcolm tastes the salty sweetness of cooling sweat, something he’s only ever tasted on himself before.

He has no idea if he’s in control of his actions right now, or if something has taken him over and is using his body as a puppet. But, he feels like this is right, even if he’s certain it’s very wrong. Martin pushes Malcolm’s hair off of his forehead, gripping it between his fingers.

Malcolm moans, a loud sound that thrills Martin. He sits up, forcing their mouths back together. They clash against each other, Martin’s hands push underneath his shirt and pull it off, leaving Malcolm’s hair disheveled. He cups his cheeks, staring up at him with adoration, lust tinting his gaze.

“ _ Fuck me, Daddy. _ ” Malcolm says quietly, breathing deeply. “I want to be your little slut.”

Martin raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “How do you want Daddy to fuck you?” His hand cups his son’s hip, one of the many bones he loves.

He exhales roughly, thrusting into his dad’s hand. How did he want it? Did he want it messy and carnal, something to relieve almost twenty years of tension? Or did he want it to be slow? Lingering, something that left him weak and shaking. He looks between Martin’s hand gently caressing his hip, moving across his flat stomach and gently touching the thin coat of hair leading to his cock.

“Be as rough as you want. I just want you inside of me.” Malcolm looks between Martin’s face and his hand, his heart racing.

They move to the rug, sheepskin that the previous owner set down. Maybe the previous owner is cold and shoved into the closet, killed precisely before Malcolm managed to wake up. However, even that thought isn’t enough to deter him from sex.

Martin watches Malcolm kick his jeans off, reminding him of the same thing he’d do as a kid. It brings a small smile to his face. He sets his hands on Malcolm’s thighs, eyes drifting down his stomach to find his erect cock begging for release. His is screaming, telling him to just stick it in already.

“ _ Shit, _ lube.” Malcolm thinks aloud. He pulls out his wallet, finding nothing. Martin grabs something from one of the bags he carried in from the car, a first aid kit, specifically. He watches his dad pull out a bottle, one that he doesn’t immediately recognise.

Martin settles down between his son’s spread thighs, unbuttoning his own pants. He sets the bottle to the side, further undressing while Malcolm palms himself and groans gently at each sensation. Martin grabs his wrists and pins them above his head, a coy look crossing his face.

“I don’t want you to get off before I’ve even touched you.” He kisses him again, sitting back down and pulling Malcolm’s briefs off. He’s left totally naked on the rug, his face hot and his cock twitching and begging for stimulation.

Martin pushes his legs back, giving himself access to his hole. It wants to be filled so badly, he knows it. He pours the contents of the bottle into his hand, a thick gel that could very well be a silicone-based lube. He rubs it across the surface of his fingers and his hand, all while Malcolm watches in pure agony.

He sets his head back on the rug and breathes deeply, a sound which sounds almost the exact same as the one Jessica would make during sex. Martin had never thought their son was any bit similar to her, he thought he was essentially a little clone of himself.

Martin glances up at Malcolm, only catching the warm light of the fire hitting his jawline. He prods at his hole with his index finger, which gets quite the reaction out of him—his toes curl, and the muscles in his thighs tense up. A breath catches in his chest when the finger is slowly inserted, pressed into his incredibly tight hole. Martin never would have thought this would have been his son’s first time getting fucked, though maybe it made sense. He grins at the shallow moan that escapes his throat, his lips part and remain open after the sound finishes.

He thrusts the finger in and out slowly, gently, working him open as gently as he can. If Malcolm was prepared for anal, he would have just gone in and pounded him like he said. He’d be rough, he’d bite and growl and claim his son as his own. Though, he’d already made it clear to himself that he claimed Malcolm, that no one else was allowed to have his mind, his body, or his soul.

“ _ Ahh, _ ” Malcolm shivers when Martin starts thrusting deeper, getting closer to his prostate. However, his fingers aren’t long enough to reach it, he estimates. Only his cock would be able to hit it, so he needs to prolong his climax.

Martin kneels down, pressing his lips to Malcolm’s thigh. It’s arched up at the knee, and he feels his muscles clench and unclench beneath the skin. His tongue runs up and down the silky soft skin, the most tender flesh on his whole body. Malcolm sighs loudly and it only encourages him to bite at the skin. It’s gentle at first, his teeth running themselves over the sensitive flesh, before it becomes soft bites, surface-level marks to signify his love and his claim over his son’s body.

Once the hole feels thoroughly worked with his index finger, he inserts a second. This is where the fun truly begins. Malcolm throws his head back, grunting a guttural sound which fades into a whimpering moan.

“That’s good, that’s good,  _ don’t stop! _ ” His voice is softer than Martin has heard in a while, he’s genuinely letting his guard down.

Malcolm grips the fur of the rug, arching his back as his father fingers him. It’s a loving act, it makes him want to cry out and apologise for the years of radio silence. If he knew this is what their relationship could have been, he wouldn’t have ignored his affection for so long.

“I won’t, baby. Not until you’re done.” His breath is warm against Malcolm’s thigh, another wave of heat courses through his body. It was either his breath, or it was “baby,” he didn’t know.

“I’m your baby,” Malcolm whimpers while Martin starts slipping in his third finger. “I’m all yours.”

Martin bites firmly on his thigh, and he cries out in glee. “You’re my baby, you always have been, you always will be.”

He breathes roughly, hard, this is everything he dreamt it would be. It was better than his dreams, even, he was never as horny as he is right now. He would just take his pants off and let Martin take over, he’d never imagined he’d be so hot and excited. Malcolm’s cock is perfectly rock hard and stiff, standing straight up beneath his briefs.

Martin is sure three fingers are enough in this case, it’s not like he’s using a comically oversized toy. However, the noises he makes with each extra finger is music to his ears, a gorgeous symphony of arousal. He slips the fourth in, the easiest finger to insert, and Malcolm squeezes his thighs together, putting further pressure on his cock.

“ _ Holy shit. _ ” Malcolm is breathless, he wants to grab his dick and totally overwhelm his senses. But he remembers what Martin said, he refuses to disobey his wishes.

The fingers only remain for a moment before they’re pulled out, leaving Malcolm empty. It’s a feeling he’s not prepared for, one that makes him feel wrong. He needs Martin inside him again, he’s not ready to be empty. He sits up to watch his father lube his cock.

“Let me.” Malcolm says, reaching his hand over. He cups it round Martin’s dick, moving the lube up and down his length. His soft groaning echoes through the living room, followed by the crackling of the wood in the fireplace.

They kiss while Malcolm prepares him, sloppy and open-mouthed. It’s lazy and disgusting, he absolutely loves it. Martin flicks his fingers across his son’s nipples, which makes his heart pound in his chest.

Malcolm remembers back when Martin would watch him during their visits. He had that same dark look in his eyes he has now, watching him talk while he’s mentally undressing him and practically devouring him. They kept their eyes locked on each other, tension building between them. Malcolm never thought it was reciprocated, but oh, how wrong he was.

Martin takes Malcolm’s hand off of his cock, and pushes him down onto his back. He spreads his legs wide open, gripping the fur rug and mentally preparing himself. Martin’s dick pushes into him slowly, stretches him in such a different way than his fingers had. He cries out, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re so tight, baby.” Martin says, his voice gentle yet dripping with coyness. 

Malcolm smiles for a moment before his mouth is gaping open again. He folds his legs back and exhales loudly, pushing himself down on his dad’s cock. It fills him perfectly, and Martin is fully aware of how much he’s enjoying it. He places his hands on his son’s hips and begins to thrust in and out of him. Jessica didn’t feel like this, her anatomy didn’t feel as perfectly matched to his as Malcolm’s arse does.

Martin’s hands grip tightly, his fingernails digging into Malcolm’s skin. He chokes out moans and grunts that match with each thrust, encouraging him to keep going. He is absolutely breathless, moaning and crying out while Martin gets off on the sound.

He sits up, settling himself down in his lap. Malcolm rests his chin on his dad’s shoulder, breathing and moaning right beside his ear. He bites down on his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut, whimpering as he starts to lose control of his body. It’s a strange, intoxicating feeling, all dependent on how his father thrusts into him.

His hips roll, he throws his head back and sighs happily. He holds onto Martin tightly, laughing softly. Sex had never felt like this, his ex-girlfriends never made him feel this good.

“ _ Harder,  _ fuck me harder,” he says, his voice taking on the same lilt as his breathing. Malcolm practically screams when he complies, thrusting into his hole with more force. The head of his cock brushes against Malcolm’s prostate, and he bites down onto his dad’s shoulder, whimpering loudly. The echo bounces off the walls, it’s probably echoing through the woods now.

“Keep biting,” Martin’s voice is dark, soft, it teases him. “That feels amazing.”

Malcolm brushes his teeth against Martin’s jugular, he flicks his tongue against his neck. He stops when his prostate is nudged again and again, leaving him melting in his lap. His body shudders, an unconscious reflex that thrills Martin.

He forgets he was ever cold at all. His lips press to Martin’s, he kisses him open-mouthed. They grab at and grip each other tightly, moaning into each other’s mouths. Malcolm starts taking shallow breaths, his shoulders rising and falling quickly. He wants to prolong this for as long as possible, keep Martin inside of him for as long as humanly possible.

However, within seconds he’s shaking and spilling his seed over their stomachs, warmth rushing over both of them. Martin thrusts one last time before he cums, and he remains inside him for a moment, regaining his own composure. They breath out of sync, lying down on top of each other.

Malcolm stares up at Martin, his eyes half-lidded. He smiles faintly, slowly glancing up and down his face.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this.” Martin says, the warmth in his voice replacing the rough tone he was using before. He kisses his jawline, snaking a hand across his chest.

“Was I better than Mom?” Malcolm feels disgusting asking, but he gets a rush from it. He isn’t even sure he can fully process what just happened, process that he had sex with his convicted killer father and didn’t feel any shame yet. In fact, his face warms, his lips involuntarily curl into a dark smile. It was one of the best experiences of his life, he’d dare say.

Martin cups his cheeks, locking their gazes together. “Do you even need to ask?” When they kiss, he makes sure to taste him, pick out his exact flavour and revel in it. His lips fit so comfortably between his own, they taste warm and slightly electric. 

They shower and entangle together underneath the most uncomfortable fleece bedspread. Malcolm lies awake, watching his perfectly contented father, or maybe “lover” was the correct term now. He’s an accessory to his father’s escape, if they’re caught he’ll face the consequences, as well. His heart races; how are they going to avoid the cops and the FBI? He looks up at the covered window above their heads, thinking he sees light in the distance.

Malcolm will do anything to keep his father with him. Now he knows how Martin has felt for ages, it twists inside of him knowing that he ached like this for decades. He feels like a monster doing this to him, all things considered. Malcolm wraps his arms around Martin, keeping a tight grip on him while he sleeps. He stares into the dark, waiting for someone to burst through the door, prepared to jump up and fight if he needs to.

His dad’s possession has become mutual.

**Author's Note:**

> if i’m going to hell i might as well go on my own terms.


End file.
